The predawn light filters into the room between my curtains as I wake from an adventurous night at work. The dust particles sift through the air and readjust with each breath taken and exhaled. The twelve-point antlers above my bed cast a shadow on the wall of a mystical beast waking with the new day.
A slight humming noise echoes in the still room overhead as the three-bladed white and bronze-lined ceiling fan spins fiercely in the air. Pulling the camouflage printed comforter off me to sit upon the edge of the bed I noticed the purple and blackish bruise on my right forearm. It is just a small reminder of a drunken fool trying to smash a beer bottle up against my head last night.
One of the benefits of being a bouncer at one of the most violent and interesting bars in the state is the pleasure of feeling your work the next morning. Sitting up and twisting around to put my feet on the cold hardwood floor, there comes a twinge in my lower back. This of course is from where the drunkard got in a wild punch before I took away his ability to breathe easily.
Thrusting the palm of my left hand into his throat and then slamming my right fist into his sternum, ended the drunkard’s advancement quicker than he had expected. I arched my back a little before I was able to stand up and get my balance. Glimpsing at the clock on the cherry wood nightstand I was overrun with joy as it read five forty-eight in the morning.
Now to do my morning wake-up routine. First, I start by tilting my head from side to side to get a release of a neck pop, which always comes in a wave of pain and relief sometimes not in that order. Next, I then make my way to the dresser, where I keep my sweatpants and extra-large and baggie t-shirts for my morning run. Grabbing a pair of clean ankle socks and my running shoes, I slowly and awkwardly get dressed.
Stumbling along the way down the stairs to the coffee pot in the kitchen, still trying to make heads or tails if I wish to put this much work into waking up. A two-story log cabin in the middle of the hill country is what I call home. I am surrounded by trees and creeks and there is even a river that runs through my 72.34 acre plot of land, along with some other special things. It takes a four-wheeled drive vehicle to get out to my cabin that’s located between North Horn Lake and Mud Lake in Tennessee just north of the Mississippi line. For me it is heaven, for anyone wanting to see me, it is a piece of work to even come within a mile of my home and that means I do not get a lot of unwelcome visitors.
The area of my habitat is sought after by a lot of individuals both human and non-human. The spring brooks are rumored to have healing properties for the supernatural, and the hill folk believe it makes the best moonshine in the four states. For me though, as I said, it is home.
The closest civilization to me is about twenty-five miles west of a town called Zealot, TN, which is the town I work in. Zealot is a community of about one hundred and twenty folks and the city is not found on any map. This is the way the community likes it. The major income for the town is the Triple H bar. It is a country rap bar that has concerts in it from time to time and can hold about four to six hundred people easily. However, the supernatural world brings in a lot of hidden income into the community as well.
I live alone for the most part. Well, technically that is not true.
I have two roommates, Jeremy and Doug Blanchard. Doug looks to be about thirty and the older of the two brothers. He is very rugged, about six foot three inches, broad-shouldered, and has a very full beard and a scar above his left eye, he looks like he stepped right out of a Paul Bunyan story. Jeremy, I would say is twenty-five, he is a lot smaller about five foot four inches, skinny as a rail, and clean-shaven. Jeremy reminds me of Jack Spratt if I could make a comparison. The one thing they do have in common is their cool baby blue eyes and their passion for annoying the hell out of one another. These brothers are also known as the best two moonshiners that ever lived in the state of Tennessee.
The shine they make is a thing of legend in our neck of the woods. The hill folk say that Blanchard Shine reminds the elders of the kind of rarity that they drank when they were knee-high to a grasshopper. The first time I had the privilege of tasting their corn mash with rye and a few other things I damn near couldn’t breathe and the hangover that came after half a bottle, well let’s just say I have seen more than a god that day. Luckily for me, since they became my roommates, I have built up a tolerance for it and now if it is less than 130 proof, I don’t get phased. So, believe me, when the elders say it reminds them of the past, I can with my heart truly believe it; oh, did I forget to mention they are dead? Dead is an understatement when it comes to the Blanchard Brothers; ghosts would be the correct definition I suppose.
Back in 1728, the Blanchard brothers had a distillery out back here in the hills. Their distillery is the foundation that my cabin is built on. From the way the two argue about that night, they were out making a new batch of shine when their life came to a fiery end. They were not attacked by rival moonshiners for their recipe or anything of the sort. Folks back then said that there was a giant fireball that lit up the night sky and sent the brothers into a new world. Their kinfoke thought that God was jealous of their talent and decided that they should come home and make him their heavenly brew. Others thought they made a pact with the devil and he came to claim their souls since that was the only way their shine could have been so divine.
Others believe that the shine was so cursed by the universe, that the universe wanted to smite them for challenging the laws of nature to make such an un-earthy libation for mere mortals to drink. So, the sky opened up and sent a falling fiery stone to rid this plane of its existence. The truth is a lot less mystical and just well more of a lapse in judgment.
They were working late one night to get a batch finished when they heard a leak in the distillery since some of their corn mash glue came off one of their copper pipes. They were unable to see where the leak was coming from. Light started dwindling since they ran out of lamp oil, so they decided that if they were very quick with a match, they could fix the issue before they lost everything, they worked so hard for. Needless to say, no one is that quick and they now can discuss in full detail the decision they made that night for the rest of eternity.
Fifteen years ago, the brothers were out in the hills fighting over something normal for two boys who have nothing but time on their spectral hands, when they came across me unconscious lying naked in the middle of some brush. The only thing I had on me was a suitcase handcuffed to my wrist, a necklace with a bunch of wooden charms on it, and three tattoos. There was no way I should have been there. No tracks going to or from my body, no roads or walking paths within a mile or two. The way they say it, I wasn’t there one moment, and the next moment I was.
When I came around, I noticed them both standing over me. Doug had a piece of straw in his mouth like that from an old movie and Jeremy just had a look on his face of a magic trick that was just pulled in front of him and he was in complete disbelief. For some reason, I knew what I was looking at. I knew they were ghosts and I was not scared or startled or anything. But when I spoke to them, it damn near scared the hell out of them.
“Either of you two fellas know where I am? Or better yet, who I am?” I asked in all sincerity.
The straw from Doug’s mouth fell to the ground as his jaw dropped and Jeremy looked at me then at Doug then back at me and then asked Doug, “You think he is talking to us?”
I raised my unshackled hand and pointed to Jeremy and then to Doug and then stated in a weary tone, “Well I see you and you, if you see me does that mean I am dead also.”
They quickly helped me stand and started to explain that I wasn’t dead, but I shouldn’t be seeing them either. They have been out in these hills for so long that they forgot how to speak to people. They then proceeded to help me to what was left of their shack. I came to find out that ghosts after so long can make a solid form for a limited time to help with things. According to the two of them, it took them almost 128 years to be able to move enough to make this shack and set up a still.
I had no idea who I was or where I came from, but since no one was looking for me, I guess it didn’t matter. With the use of a rock and a lot of time on my hands, I was able to get the suitcase off my wrist and get it open. Inside the suitcase, was a photo ID of me with the name of Daj Hoyle and an address for a place that doesn’t exist, yet. It was published in Memphis, TN. There was also, a birth certificate from the Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis, a deed to the area I was found lying on, and three hundred thousand dollars in cash.
The brothers introduced their selves and gave me a rundown of the area that is now my home. In return for helping me get on my feet and teaching me all they knew about the surroundings; I offered to rebuild their distillery and sell their booze. They were not in it for the money; it was their name, their legacy that they wanted to keep going. So, all the money that was made from their product, we would put back in the business and the rest would go to local charities.
It took me about five years to build our cabin from hand, which in the basement was the brand-new copper distillery. Since it was their home as well, we worked together to get the place to make everyone happy. From the front porch to the back door to even the cellar with more white lighting in it than a certain thunder god could ever drink alone could consume. We decided on everything, even the kind of plates and cups to put in the home, to make it our own. Yeah, they didn’t use any of the stuff, but I wanted their input as well.
Over the last fifteen years, we kind of adopted each other. Even though they never need anything I still worry about them. They also show an interest in my well-being when they pop up now and again when I am at one of my other jobs, to make sure I am ok as well. Time and time again they have proven that they are not the sharpest tools in the shed, but damn dem boys make me laugh, and they are my kin.
As soon as my feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, my ears become privy to the first dispute of the day. Jeremy is standing on his tippy toes, getting into Doug’s face, and shouting in his squeaky-like tone, “They could not!”
Doug is more of a bass tone that echoes very well in the log cabin and retorts with a, “They could too!”
Back and forth, like a scene from an old Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoon, I watch the scene play out in my kitchen.
“They could not,” Jeremy yells.
“They could too,” Doug wails.
I quickly step through the two arguing apparitions, for two reasons. For one, it was the quickest way to get to the coffee. I love them to death but if I don’t get coffee before I start hearing this. I may find a permanent way to exercise them. The second reason, of course, is to interrupt the bickering. Passing through them makes the sparring stop and they have to admit that I was in the room. It also takes them a second to have to reform into a solid-like state, but immediately after their congealing, I was being bombarded with the who’s right questioning.
“Guys,” I yelled over the two bickering children, “what is the routine? The same damn routine every day for the last ten years?”
Both of them swiftly drop their heads like scalded dogs and slouch their shoulders in despair. Then with a unison response replied, “No bothering Daj until he had his cup of coffee and got back from his run.”
Just like a buzzer in a game show the coffee pot was alarmed to inform me that my morning beverage was ready to be consumed. Turning away from the children, so to speak, I make my way to what awaits me on the counter. I poured myself a cup of black rich bliss and drank it down in one gulp without another word said. I looked at both of them and with a sigh, “I am going for my run when I get back. I will take my shower and tidy my room. You two get the dishes sorted out, and when I sit down for my next cup, I will be glad to hear both sides of the story.”
They both lit up with joy, like kids in a candy store and I found it very amusing. Before I step out onto the porch I turn and inform them the same thing I say every time.
“Now I will only be gone for 20 minutes you both know my route, so if you need me, come get me. And Jeremy, do not pop up in front of me again, I am tired of falling over. You know I can’t hear anything with these things on.”
Jeremy nods his head in confirmation, and I step out the swinging door into the wonderful world of the forest that surrounds us. The fresh green air hits my senses like a monsoon. With the fallen dew of the morning combined with the overwhelming flora that is rapidly growing in the area, there is a sweet and woodsy fragrance that fills my lungs, not like that of the Amazon, more on the lines of a fresh-cut lawn mixed with a flower shop. I put on my Bluetooth headphones, and pair them with my phone. Pick my favorite music app and hit the live radio feed. The Hick Hop Music app starts playing the song We All Country remix. The beat gets my heart racing, then my legs follow suit, and down the self-made path through the trees, I head out.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
About thirteen minutes or so into my jog, I come to a complete stop. Standing in the middle of the jogging trail stands an old Chickasaw Indian. He appears to be in his late 70’s with wrinkles covering most of his face. There is a single feather in his hair above his left ear, and a simple headband with a few beads in it, to hold his long black bangs out of his face. He is wearing moccasins that look to be made from deer pelt, with a matching vest. A pair of denim jeans with a black belt and a t-shirt that says, “If you can read this, you are within my scope.” In his mouth, he has a single piece of fresh wheat sticking out. This is the only part that confuses me since I have no idea where it comes from. Hell, the closest wheat farm is three states over, and it appears to be fresh from a crop.
“Hallito Daj, chinchokma?”
“I am good Inki Abu. How are you, this blessed morning?
Inki Abu is an elder of the local Chickasaw tribe in this area. People in the area are afraid to speak to him since his presence demands very high respect. For a man of his age, and in this time frame, he somehow can make it where he is only seen when he wishes to be. Some people think that he may be a medicine man or even a shaman of the tribe. After dealing with him over the last eight to nine years I have come to realize he is a lot more than that. If I was a betting man, I would put money on him being the god that the Chickasaw people pray to.
The small gestures and ticks that he projects with his mannerisms prove to me he is something of the supernatural plane. At one time, I thought he was Coyote, another god of many Native American tribes. That idea was tossed out the window when I stumbled upon the two having a conversation over a peace pipe. I was able to sit and join them since I was carrying some of the Blanchard Moonshine on me; I just had mistakenly lost a bottle or two on transport. I also, at one time, had the notion he may have been a Wendigo.
A Wendigo, in Native American history, is a beast that stands about six foot nine inches tall, feasts on humans and resembles a mixture between a Werewolf and a Yeti. All three of them are real, and only two of them can be friendly. That idea was crushed when I watched Inki, no bigger than five foot four inches lift a Wendigo off the ground by the throat with only his left hand and cut its head clean off with a small black-like dagger with his right hand in one quick slice. When he had seen me witness this feat of strength he simply wiped off his blade on the Wendigo’s fur, put it back into the sheath then while raising his right hand and waving it slightly said, “This is not the Wendigo you were looking for.” Then he simply turned around and walked into the brush and disappeared.
To be honest, he is one of only four creatures I have ever met that scares the hell out of me.
“I am also good Daj, I am happy to hear you understand the language of my people more. I have come bearing sad news today. You are about to have company at your house about a job that you must take. Open your eyes on this adventure, not everything is as it appears.”
Inki never talks to me about my work, unless it is of great importance. The last time he informed me of an issue with a case, an orphanage was being used as a blood bank for vampires in Louisiana. The remnants of that nest are still trying to track me down for payback, but you don’t hurt kids like that, ever.
I looked the old elder into his dark brown eyes and I could see he meant to tell me something more. I remember from previous talks that if I offer him a trade, he may be able to loosen his lip on the subject.
“I am honored by your words and wisdom. I will stay the course and keep my eyes open. I know we haven’t spoken much, and I miss our conversations. Maybe you can take these as a token of gratitude for your friendship and wisdom.”
I then take my Bluetooth headphones off my head and hand them to him. Instantly the old man looks like a child on his birthday and a subtle smile comes across his face in amazement.
“Yappa nanta?” he asks me with puzzlement. I think his words through, and I realize he is asking what it is.
“They allow music to play through a device as I gave you last time, the one that plays music in your ears. This will let it play music without the wires as I was doing before our conversation started this day.”
He starts to fish in his pocket for something to trade for them and I stop him.
“No trade, you gave me words of wisdom, we are even,” I informed him. I made a gesture with my hand to make a flat line in the air. The smile broadens more, and I can now see a gap of missing teeth in his grin. I turn to take my leave and he calls out.
“Not every step on the path that is walked is left by the owner of the step.”
I am sure that was to mean something, so I turned to thank him, but he was already gone. I, unfortunately, do know how Commissioner Gordon feels in all the comic books. Turning back down my original route, I start making my way back to the cabin. No sooner do I get up to a nice pace for a jogging speed, Jeremy spontaneously appears in front of me. I so despise ghosts at times.
I trip on my own feet trying to stop and take a dive into the sharp branch-covered path and scraping my knees on the branches on the jagged path, skidding my right palm across a few jagged stones to brace my fall. Turning my right shoulder forward and under me, providing enough moment to roll through the fall, and quickly stand up in front of him.
“Damn it, Jeremy, what did I tell you about that,” I demanded while I started to brush the stones from my palm and knock the dirt off my right shoulder.
Have you ever heard a ghost laugh? It sounds like a mixture of a baby giggling and blowing into a straw at the same time, it’s creepy as hell. I know I am furious since I have told him numerous times before, but if you ever get a chance to see a ghost laugh it is funny as hell. Even though he is not breathing he is still mimicking the thought, knees bent, his arms held across his abdomen, and bent over a straw giggling as hard as he could. I can’t hold it against him too much, I am sure I would laugh too if it happened to someone else, but that is not the damn point. After about two to three minutes of hearing the straw giggles, and pointing at me in glee, he is finally able to speak rationally.
“I am sorry Daj, I am. I didn’t mean to. But it was funny right der,” Jeremy squealed out.
I ignore the comment, “What is it Jeremy?”
“Oh yeah, ya got company headin’ to the house. Doug thinks it may be Samuel. He is drivin' really fast. Since you weren’t back yet, Doug sent me to fetch ya.”
I nodded my head in response. “You head on back there. I’m on my way. You and Doug wait in the cabin till I get there, just in case it isn’t Samuel, alright?”
“Alright, Daj,” Jeremy nodded, “Me and Doug will be in the basement. We won’t be seen, no sir.”
“Good, I am on my way.” I flicked my finger in a manner to tell him to get and he disappeared. I started sprinting back to the house as fast as my feet could carry me.
Ghosts are a rare thing. I don’t mean that you never see one but it is rare to see one out in the wild out of the city. And if there were two of them, that means more trouble. Certain types of assholes look for ghosts. Not because they are curious, no, but because they want to use them for their bidding. Some creatures see ghosts as enduring servants that can serve an immortal forever. Then, if a spirit witch or gods forbid a necromancer gets ahold of one, they will shred a ghost to pieces and use their essence to do some very nasty and unforgivable things. And the spirit will then be lost in the void forever. No way to move on to the other side if they wanted to. Yes, there is another side of this mortal world, and no it is not like what people read in stories.
I was not about to let that happen to my brothers. With the thought of a possible intruder on our land, my feet started pumping like pistons and I ran faster than I have in a long time. Coming out of the woods into a clearing there stood a two-tone blue and black jeep sitting in the driveway. It was a newer model with all the trimmings. There was a lift kit, with multiple light bars on it, a huge wench in the front, and a smaller one on the back. The thing even had one of those breather-type devices that would let you drive through four-foot-deep mud puddles and not drown out your engine. The license plate was one of those vanity plates that said IF1X1TUP. I knew right away that my brothers were ok and thank the lord above it was Samuel.
Samuel Longstrum is the son of Jebidiah Longstrum, and he is a werewolf. His father Jebidiah is the alpha of the Nashville chapter of werewolves and is a very powerful person. Samuel is third in line to take over if anything would befall his father and Leo, Jebidiah’s second in command. Samuel is the local mechanic for the city of Zealot and in the last ten years, he has become one of my best friends. If Samuel is here it is for one of two reasons, either he wants to get into trouble, or someone requires my services and not as a bouncer at the bar.
“Daj, man you need to bring your truck into the shop, looks like your back spring is going to snap. You know my dad would be glad to buy you a new truck. All you have done for him and the pack, they would be honored.” He stated in a pleasing tone.
“Sam, how’s your mom and dem?” I politely asked.
“She is good, so is Pa. Thank you for the query,” he responded insincerely.
I make my way closer to my friend and in a monotonous response, “You know I can’t accept a gift from anyone; it would look as if I was taking sides. That is against the rules. Besides, your father doesn’t owe me anything. What I do for the pack I also do for everyone else. Anyways, my truck is fine; I had it out bogging the other day and tore the mud up.”
“Iight, whateva man, when it breaks off just call me up and I will promise I won’t say I told you so, too many times,” he chuckled in response.
We greeted each other with a handshake and a pat on the back. I pointed to the cabin and invited him in. As we stepped inside, I hollered out, “Sam is here, come on up.”
Jeremy and Doug shot through the floorboards like a rocket to greet our guests. I turned to the three of them and apologized but I must freshen up after my jog. I made my way upstairs to get cleaned up. After a shower, I made up the bed, straightened the room a little, and headed back downstairs to visit with my friend.
Jeremy, Doug, and Samuel were seated at the table engaged in a conversation about the new batch of Shine the two are working on and when it may be ready.
I poured myself a new cup of black liquid gold from the pot. “Sam, could I interest ya in a cup of greatness? We also got some fresh sweet tea, orange juice and I think some milk in the fridge if ya be needin’ something to wet your whistle?”
Sam thought about it and said, “Some Sweet Tea sounds mighty fine Daj, thank you.”
I put the coffee pot back and grabbed a canning jar from the cabinet and poured a glass of ice-cold tea for Sam. I handed it to him then grabbed my coffee cup off the counter and sat down at the open chair left at the table. When the first taste of the hot bliss hit my lips, I sighed and put the cup down, and then in stereo, the two brothers started in.
Sam just sat back and covered his mouth with his left hand to prevent himself from laughing out loud. He knew how the two got and was not about to interrupt the routine. I raised one hand and they both stopped talking.
I cleared my throat and in the most serious voice that I could muster at this time stated, “I, Daj Hoyle, Arbiter of the supernatural world, call to the meeting of Brothers Jeremy and Doug to settle this dispute according to the laws of the lands. My decision will be final and there will be no disputes once the verdict has been made. Do both parties agree to these terms?”
I look upon Jeremy and he nods his head in approval. I then turn to Doug and he does the same.
“I then open the floor to Jeremy first to give his side of the story.”
Jeremy quickly blurted out, “I bring to note that der is no way that Jack could have fit on da door with Rose when the Titanic was sinking because da door would have flipped over and dey both would have frozen to death in the ocean.”
With all the power I could of mustard, I did not laugh, not once. Deep down I knew I never should have gotten them Netflix, but who can say no to the ones they love? I then turned to Doug and nodded to him for his statement.
Doug in a very serious tone stated, “Not only do I believe that dey both could have survived on the door, but it was also proven on an episode of Mythbusters. They used science and math to prove that both of dem, Jack and Rose, could have made it fine. Dat James Cameron just wanted to sell a movie and had to let a great man like Leonardo DiCaprio give his life, to fulfill Cameron’s wishes.”
Once the statement was finished the two brothers went at each other again with verbal bashings and cursing. I glanced over in Samuels’s direction and the werewolf was so red from pure enjoyment, that I thought he was going to burst.
I slammed my hand firmly on the table and the room became a vacuum of silence. I glanced in both directions so they both knew I had enough and composed myself before speaking.
“In the matter of the door boat, and whether or not it could have saved both Jack and Rose long enough before they could have been fished out of the water. I have seen the footage from the movie, and I have also borne witness to the Mythbusters episode. Cameron himself said they should have made the door smaller. Therefore, with all the footage that has been made available since the movie’s release. I have declared that Doug is correct. Therefore, per the standing agreement between you both, Doug has the Netflix remote for the next two days. My decision is final.” I then take another swig of coffee and motion to Samuel about stepping outside, with a nod of my head.
We both exit the cabin to the front porch, and we can hear Jeremy express his disbelief on the matter and their words fade into the background. I offer Sam a seat as I take mine. Sam sits down and just lets out pure laughter in disbelief at another hard-fought decision. He looks straight at me and in a jesting tone, “You know that there was no right answer to that question, right?”
I just shrug my shoulders and take another sip.
Then in a concerned tone, “Sam, it is good to see you like always but I sense you have something you need to talk about?”
Sam took in a shallow breath and then spoke softly. “Yeah, dad sent me. It sounds very important. He said that you need to bring your kit and a contract to Lucian’s office tonight. Lucian is going to oversee the procedure; also, Dad said someone important was coming, so you need to dress appropriately.”
I was puzzled by this; I mean I have met with everyone in the area, dressed like I always do. Everyone knows me, and yet I am being asked to dress appropriately. I know something isn’t right and for Lucian to oversee the signing of a contract means there is a lot more going on than a simple quarrel.
I take a big swig of coffee to finish the cup off and look at Sam. I then shift my attitude to a serious and professional manner and state, “Please inform Alpha Longstrom I will be at Mr. Wyrmwood's office at twenty hundred hours and will be honored to sit with him and his entourage to discuss the matter at hand. I will have a contract made available for all parties to sign. Like all negotiations, I will come armed in case someone decides to act against the laws of the land while we are in the congregation. Is there anything else I need to be aware of before we convene this evening?”
Samuel took his queue and responded accordingly. “Arbiter Hoyle, I will inform my alpha of your arrival and make sure everyone will follow the laws of the lands in your presence. At this time our conversation will hold till we meet again. Thank you for your time and have a blessed day.”
He then stood and bowed.
I sat my cup down, took a standing position returned the bow, and finished with, “Have a blessed day.”
Samuel turned and walked back to his jeep. As he was about to get in, he shouted back sarcastically and playfully,
“If all goes well, you may even get to see Alex tonight.” Slamming the door quickly he started the blue and black monster up, hammered down on the accelerator, and peeled down the makeshift road.
I picked up my coffee cup to go back inside and thought to myself, that is all I need today, and rolled my eyes in discord.